Matters of the Heart
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #17 Lauren Fielding learns that the new, resurrected Spock has returned to Earth to testify at Kirk's court-martial. Her Spock is dead. She stood over his coffin. How can she expect anything from this stranger, when Spock even feels like a stranger to himself?
1. Chapter 1

October's sun lay warm and mellow on Lauren Fielding's shoulders, but inside she felt cold, empty. Gulls strutted along the debris-strewn beach and circled the churning waves, greedily pouncing on anything that resembled food. For them, the storm was over. Life continued in its daily round of eating, quarreling, mating.

Lauren leaned against the wind-gnarled trunk of a Monterey pine and turned her attention to the crew of workers repairing her beach house. Some of the old foundation had been torn away, leaving the wide porch sagging. Shutters dangled, broken windows gaped, torn shingles littered the ravaged yard. No sign remained of the peeling, decrepit fence she had played beside as a child.

It had been a storm like no other. Descending upon Earth without warning, an alien probe threw the weather into chaos, plummeting temperatures, battering the land with freezing rains and dangerous tides. Worldwide, coastal damages were severe. Countless lives were lost before Admiral Kirk and his outlaw crew used whale song to turn away the probe.

Sighing, Lauren gazed up at the lacy canopy of pine branches, at the vivid blue beyond. _Outlaws. Friends._ Only one among them was truly innocent, himself a victim of a man named Khan, of his own uncompromising ideals, of science gone stark raving mad. Hope and fear churned in her at the thought of Spock alive, right here in California, under this same cloudless sky. Her current duty assignment was just a few blocks from the Vulcan embassy where he was said to be staying. What if he ventured over to the medical center? What if they stumbled into each other? Would he recognize her? Even for a moment would his mind clear, would he acknowledge their former relationship?

A peculiar noise broke into her reverie. Turning, she looked out to sea. Sunlight glistened off the restless water, and something unbelievably huge and sleek and powerful skimmed the surface before disappearing back under. Lauren stared at the surging waves, at the tantalizing hint of spray fading into imagination, and her eyes grew distant. Her mouth softened. _Whales._ It was good having them on Earth again.

oooo

"I've got them!" Gillian cried out. Her blue eyes dancing, she jabbed an eager finger at the ocean monitor. "Look! George and Gracie are still offshore, right above Carmel."

Spock moved to her side and studied the readings. He found it disturbing that with all of the Pacific Basin to explore, the two humpback whales continued to linger in that particular stretch of water. _Lauren's stretch of water._

"Weird, huh?" Gillian said. "Why do you suppose they like it there?"

Spock looked at her blonde hair as she bent over the monitor, squinting. His hands felt cold, but his civilian suit had no pockets in which to warm them. "An interesting phenomenon," he remarked, hoping she would leave it at that.

With her usual annoying persistent, Gillian straightened up and confronted him, a stubborn frown on her face. "Wait a minute, you must have _some_ idea, some inkling of how they think. I mean, back in my time you used that mindtouch thing on Gracie. In the whale tank. You admitted it."

Yes, Spock had admitted to the precipitous meld. But he would not admit to Gillian Taylor that a whale that had shared his deepest thoughts, his most private feelings, might now be acting upon them. Fighting embarrassment, he said, "Doctor Taylor, you are the expert in whale physiology and behavior. It is for that very damn reason Admiral Kirk brought you back with us. I am only here to assist you. And to learn."

He walked away before Gillian could respond.

Outside the Oceanographic Center, the afternoon was golden with the haze of Earth's autumn. Spock came down the steps and started toward the headquarters of the Federation Council. He welcomed the long, solitary walk in the open air. He must clear his mind of distractions. He must concentrate on ridding his speech of the profanity he acquired on 20th century Earth. Admiral Kirk and the others were depending on him. He had traveled all the way from Vulcan to offer testimony on behalf of his human friends. Now that the hour had come, he would answer each question with dignity and precision. It was all he could do. _But what if clarity of speech was not enough?_

Amid murmurs, Spock entered the packed courtroom and took the seat reserved for him by Defense. Kirk turned and flashed him a wan look of gratitude. McCoy and his other shipmates displayed varying degrees of annoyance at his last minute arrival, and relief that he had appeared in time.

A sudden hush fell over the assembly. Everyone rose as the Tribunal walked in, and then returned to their seats in expectant silence. Spock was called to the witness stand.

All through his careful testimony Spock was aware of the audience's rapt attention. Anyone who had followed the case knew of his return from the dead. Even so, it was difficult for him to air such a private matter. As he spoke, he found his eyes wandering. They lingered on the nervous faces of his friends and swept over the sea of gawking strangers, searching, seeking against all logic—for whom? What would he do if he actually saw her? It was presumptuous to think Lauren Fielding might still concern herself with him. Any encounter with the doctor was sure to be awkward. It was better that she was not here.

Spock found his father in the audience. He was acutely aware of Sarek watching him—the ramrod stiff posture, the cold grim scrutiny. No doubt the ambassador's highly developed sense of political duty demanded that he attend even after he had offered his own argument on behalf of the accused. It was the same sense of Vulcan duty that kept them from each other's throats on a day-to-day basis. Though they lived in close proximity at the embassy, what few words they were compelled to exchange were chilly and stilted. They had not spoken as father and son since their bitter quarrel on Vulcan.

Spock remained on the stand for well over an hour. When the cross-examination came to an end, he was not sure how the Tribunal had received his testimony. The faces of the presiding officers were as stony and unreadable as that of his father. Resisting an urge to escape the crowded courtroom, Spock went back to his seat. Once again Kirk turned, his thumb raised in the human gesture of encouragement and solidarity. Doctor McCoy smiled and cocked an eyebrow. Then the trial resumed.

oooo

"Hey, Laurie!" Loud knocking punctuated the shrill voice in the hallway. "C'mon, I know you're in there! Open up, will you?"

With a huff of annoyance Lauren plopped down her half-eaten sandwich and gave up the warm spot on her couch. "For Pete's sake,' she fumed, triggering open the apartment door. "I don't want to hear about it, okay?"

"About _him,_ you mean." Janice Rand strode in uninvited and tossed off her overcoat. "What's the matter with you? Sometimes I think you don't give a damn about Spock. Sometimes I think you never really did."

The words stung. Hot tears welled in Lauren's eyes. "How can you say that? I thought you were my friend."

"I _am_ ," Janice insisted. "You know I am. Why else would I keep after you like this? I mean, lately you haven't made me feel exactly welcome."

Lauren drew in a slow, shaky breath and brought herself under control. "I know. I'm sorry, Jan. It's just that…" her voice trailed off. It was no use even trying to explain her feelings about Spock. Very quietly she said, "So how did it go?"

"Laurie, you should've been there. They way he testified—I'm not kidding, Spock seemed just like his old self."

Lauren bit down on her lip and gazed out a window. Darkness came early these days. In the lamplit concourse lonely gusts of wind scattered the fallen leaves. Not a soul in sight.

"Laurie, are you listening to me? Give it a chance, go see him. How else will you ever know?"

Lauren shook her head. "If he really _were_ his 'old self'—if he remembered—he would've gotten in touch with me."

"Maybe," said Janice. "Maybe not. What if he's just as scared and mixed up as you? It's been a long road for him, too, Laurie. He's been through a helluva lot."

Lauren's throat tightened painfully. "Quit worrying about him. He's not alone. He's still got his friends." And she could not help thinking, _and now he's got Gillian Taylor, too._

"Laurie." Janice's voice was especially gentle. " _You're_ the one I'm worrying about. All you ever do anymore is mope around. It's such a waste of time. He's there, I tell you. He's there, waiting."

Confused, Lauren turned aside and said nothing. Janice patted her on the shoulder and left. After a while Lauren waved down the lights and went to bed. The nights were always hardest. Shadowy images stirred the darkness as she lay thinking, remembering. There was a time when she would not have hesitated to call on Spock, a time when he made her feel warm and welcome and secure. That time of deepening intimacy had more than made up for all the painful conflict in their past. She thought of how he had looked the last time she saw him alive. Shaken by the savage bloodiness of Khan's rampage, fatal determination in his eyes. And yes, a hint of fear.

Could Jan be right? Was it so unreasonable to think this resurrected Spock might also experience fear—the all-too-human fear of inadequacy and rejection? If she could just bring herself to talk to him—a casual conversation, nothing more. God knows, she was hungry for the sound of his voice, for just a glimpse of him. And then maybe Jan would get off her back.

oooo

In the morning Lauren arose knowing what she had to do. It was nearly ten when she placed the call from Starfleet Medical Center. A Vulcan woman appeared on the comscreen, impeccably groomed, cool, and businesslike. No, Spock was not presently at the embassy. She did not know when he was expected back. She would, however, accept a message for him.

Her heart pounding, Lauren declined and swiftly broke the connection. It had been a foolish idea, anyway. A stupid, idiotic waste of time and emotion.

A full hour passed before she built up enough courage to try again. Inwardly quaking, she placed a call to Spock of Vulcan at the Pacific Oceanographic Center. A young woman in a white coat appeared, blonde and very pretty.

"Hi," the woman said. "I'm Doctor Taylor. Sorry, Spock's not in today."

Lauren stared at the smiling image on the screen. "Taylor? Gillian Taylor?"

The curious eyes brightened. "Yes. Is there some way I can help you?"

So this was the living relic from the 20th century. The press releases had not even begun to do her justice. Gillian was strikingly beautiful and seemed far too self-assured for a person in her situation. The breezy way she mentioned Spock, like an old friend and colleague, made Lauren burn. Struggling with jealousy, she managed to say, "Do you know where I can find him?'

Gillian shrugged. "Sorry, no. He said he was going out of town. You might check at the Vulcan Embassy."

Somehow Lauren thanked her and signed off. She gripped the armrests of her chair so hard that her fingers throbbed. Why did that Taylor woman make her feel so threatened? The Spock she had known and loved, the _real_ Spock, no longer existed. He was dead, gone. It was a bitter fact that her mind could understand. So why wouldn't her heart be convinced?

oooo

A gentle snow fell softly onto whitened yards and rooftops. Silver-laced trees lined ribbons of icy streets, hushed and dazzling to the eyes. This was how Spock always remembered Minneapolis. Frozen and enchanted. He took his time slogging through the undomed residential area, the hood of his cloak flung back, snowflakes stinging his ears and neck. No anxious mother hovered nearby, ordering him to "bundle up". No young cousins snickered at the fat snowsuit he had once been compelled to wear. This time he was alone. Though the cold crept through his Vulcan robes and numbed his lightly clad feet, the feeling was not intolerable. Soggy hems and shoes would dry; warmth could be restored. He was in no hurry to reach his destination, but when he did, he would look every inch a Vulcan.

Halfway down the block a sturdy brick house came into view. Spock paused before the Breskin residence, and for a moment he was an outcast halfling boy. Then the moment passed. He was no longer a child. It was time to fulfill the promise made to his mother before leaving Vulcan. Inwardly preparing himself, he rang the doorbell and waited. Movement could be heard inside, unhurried footsteps on carpeting.

A woman opened the door. Though Spock had not seen his Aunt Doris in over forty years, he recognized the small silver-haired grandmother from family photos. Shorter than her sister Amanda, and rounder, she somehow gave the false appearance of being the younger of the two. Her lively blue eyes appraised him with unexpected kindness.

Inclining his head in the Vulcan manner of greeting, he said, "Doris."

"Spock," she smiled, stepping aside. "Come in. Come in out of the cold."

Spock shook out his snow-encrusted cloak and followed her into the…the parlor. Yes. That was it. The word sprang unbidden from a restless miasma of childhood memories. _"Out of the parlor, boys. Lester, Mikey, go find something to do with your cousin. And be nice…"_

Feeling awkward, Spock took the seat offered to him—a delicately constructed chair upholstered in pale green velvet. Doris sat nearby. A small table between them held a steaming pot of tea and a plate of cucumber sandwiches. Silently Doris poured the amber liquid into a pair of china cups and placed one before her equally silent guest. Then she sat back, looking at him.

"It's been a long time," she said at last.

"Yes," Spock agreed, wondering why both she and his mother had wanted him to come here.

"We've been like strangers," Doris said, and her eyes grew moist. "I want to apologize…for not notifying you of Roger's death."

"There is no need." Spock had not expected such conciliatory words or the depths of his own response. He admitted, "I, too, have experienced regrets."

Doris nodded. "Your uncle was a good man. He treated you more fairly than I ever did. I'm afraid I was always too quick to side with Les and Mike, to take their word against yours, to cover for them. It's sometimes…quite painful…to acknowledge your children's faults." She paused, seemingly lost in the past. Then her eyes focused once again on his. "You have a child of your own now."

"Yes. T'Beth has spoken with pleasure of her visit here."

"I enjoyed having her. She's a wonderful girl, so young, so full of life." Doris hesitated, the lines of her face deepening with concern. "It's a shame what happened. Mandy…told me about the abduction."

Spock stiffened perceptibly. His and T'Beth's sojourn among the Klingons was an extremely private, painful affair. It disturbed him to think that his mother had seen fit to inform Doris. In an attempt to change the subject, he said, "Your sons—are they well?"

"Well enough," Doris replied absently. Clearly her mind was elsewhere. With a sigh she faced him determinedly. "Enough beating around the bush. Spock, I know that girl of yours is going through some rough times right now. I know she's gotten herself into trouble on Vulcan. Well, you may not realize it, but this past year has taken quite a toll on your mother, too. Mandy and I both feel that T'Beth needs a change of scene, a fresh start. She needs the kind of help she can only get among humans."

Spock absorbed his aunt's words in stunned silence. So it had come to this. On some level he had known it was only a matter of time before the strain of family discord had its effect on Amanda. He had already considered finding T'Beth a new home away from the rigorous demands of Vulcan culture. But why hadn't his mother informed him of her own conclusions? Why had she left the telling to Doris?

Easing his dry throat with a swallow of tea, he admitted, "I, too, have given thought to the matter and have reached a similar conclusion."

"Really?" Doris looked surprised.

Spock set down his cup. "I was reluctant to broach the subject with Mother. She has grown quite close to the child."

"Yes, she has. But you see—" Doris broke off and caught her lips between small, even teeth. "Oh dear, I don't know how to say this without sounding like a pushy old woman."

By now Spock's curiosity was fully aroused. He waited, quietly attentive, for his aunt to continue.

"You see," Doris said at last, "I have a place in California, out a ways on one of those winding canyon roads. Roger and I had been planning to—" She stopped, gave an impatient wave. "But never mind about that. It's such a lovely spot, not far from your San Francisco base. I've been thinking how nice it would be if—but I'm sure you wouldn't even consider it."

Spock's eyebrow edged upward as his mind leaped toward a most unlikely possibility. "A home," he said, "in California."

"I suppose I _am_ rambling a bit."

He just looked at her.

"Very well." Taking a deep breath, Doris leaned toward him. "What I'm trying to say is that I would like T'Beth to come live with me."

Abruptly the room grew very silent. Spock heard snow falling in little whispers beyond the window. Somewhere in the old house a clock ticked, a cat stretched and sighed contentedly.

"Mandy thinks it's a fine idea. But of course, Spock, you're her father."

A very startled and confused father, Spock might have added. A woman he had not spoken with since boyhood was asking for the responsibility of T'Beth's care. The fact that this woman was Aunt Doris made the request seem even more improbable. Had she really changed so much? Or could it be that he had never really known her? Now he understood why Amanda had let Doris do the telling. Had he not come here and heard the words directly from Doris' mouth, he would have immediately rejected the proposal.

"I…must admit to some surprise," he said at last. "I will need time to consider. As you obviously know, T'Beth is…quite troubled."

"And no wonder, after what she's been through. Those ghastly Klingons." Doris shuddered. "But she'll come around, I know it. We'll get her the best of psychiatric help."

Deep in thought, Spock said, "I can see that your interest in the child is sincere. You must consider, however, the fact that T'Beth is not…entirely human."

Doris regarded him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Quietly she asked, "Do you think that matters to me? She's a child, _that's_ what matters. And what any child needs it plenty of affection and room to grow. Don't you agree?" Spock opened his mouth to speak, but onward Doris rushed, her eyes bright with hope, her parchment cheeks flushed. "Oh, I'm not about to let her run wild, if that's what you're thinking. Oh dear, no. But my standards of behavior are bound to be a little different from yours. After all, this is Earth."

"Indeed," Spock managed to say. This _was_ Earth—a planet teeming with libidinous young males. Hardly a reassuring thought. T'Beth's involvement with a human boy on Vulcan had proved disastrous. Though she was older now, her ordeal among the Klingons had left her even more vulnerable. If she lived here, there would have to be serious restrictions. He would have to make T'Beth understand the reason for them. He would have to raise the delicate issue of her Sy heritage.

For now, Doris dropped the subject. Following their tea, she pursed her lips and made a series of smacking noises. The cat Spock had detected earlier now softly padded into the parlor. At the sight of him it stopped short, yellow eyes widening. Then, deciding that he posed no threat, the gray ball of fur jumped into his lap and began to purr. Spock stroked it. As Doris watched, her eyes grew as bemused and drowsy as those of her friendly pet. It was an agreeable note on which to end the visit.

Taking leave of Doris, Spock ventured back into the storm and pondered the decision before him. T'Beth might make a good companion for his widowed aunt. In turn, Doris could provide T'Beth with a stable home and a warm feminine influence, neither of which he could offer in his present circumstances. All of his adult life had been dedicated to Starfleet. He had no real home apart from the service. He had no wife. On his own he could offer T'Beth little in the way of warmth. Any dream of family life that he might have once entertained was only that—a dream. Logic alone must guide him in his decision.

Spock gazed up at the leaden, swirling sky. Crystals of snow pelted his face and caught in his eyelashes. T'Beth was desperately unhappy on Vulcan. Even with restrictions, she would prefer life here. He had no doubt of that. But how could he make such an important decision when his own life was as unsettled as the autumn weather? Sometimes he did not understand himself. His heart was often with his human friends, yet he avoided their company. He lived apart, in the quiet recesses of the Vulcan Embassy. Since coming back to Earth, he had not set foot in his old apartment at Starfleet. Why? Yes, why? Perhaps when he found that answer, the question of T'Beth's future would also be resolved. For her sake he must not put it off any longer.

With a shiver, Spock drew up his hood and resumed walking.

oooo

It was dusk when Spock arrived at the Academy grounds in San Francisco. The air was chilly and damp with encroaching fog. Cutting across a lawn, he quietly entered the rear of the faculty building. For a moment he stood unobserved in the hallway. At this hour most of the residents were behind doors, tending to their dinners. He remembered that. He had planned on it. But he had not anticipated what a wrenching effect the building itself would have on him.

Now, assailed by the sights and sounds and smells of his former surroundings, Spock knew why he had kept away. In the sudden racing of his heart he also knew why he must stay, why he must continue on and meet the specter of his past, face to face. The only alternative was to live his life haunted by a dead man.

The decision made, he turned, mounted the stairs to the second floor, and approached Captain Spock's quarters. A wide strip of security tape sealed the door shut, extending over the touch-plate beneath his name. Starfleet's official boundary of death. It would have been set in place soon after receiving the Enterprise casualty list. Apparently it had remained through all the months of uncertainty that followed.

Spock glanced up and down the hallway. Although his keen ears detected sounds of habitation, no one was in sight. For that he was thankful. Feeling like an interloper, he ripped aside the sticky yellow tape and pressed a chilled hand to the sensor plate. With a hiss the door sprang open. Light from the hall dimly illuminated the interior of the apartment.

Steeling himself, Spock stepped inside. Behind him, the door snapped shut, plunging the room into darkness. A cool draft of air sidled down his neck. Out of some vague reflex his hand fumbled back, found an unseen control. Lights came on.

Spock stared at the eerily familiar room. Furniture untouched, everything in perfect order beneath a thin layer of dust. Silent, but not still—the air swarmed with strange energies. He seemed to hear music—the pure, mellow harmony of two flutes playing. But there was no flute here. His had been burned up in the destruction of the Enterprise, and the other belonged to—

Working to control his emotions, Spock moved out into the room. His eyes settled on a three-dimensional chess board, its pieces frozen in mid-game. _Her_ move. Black rook to queen's level two. So saying she had smiled, knowing her captain would defeat her and not minding in the least. Neither of them had realized it would be their last game together.

Spock picked up the dusty rook and held it tightly in his hand. Where was Lauren Fielding tonight? Why had she not come to him? A Vulcan woman would have sensed his need for her. She would not allow him to remain apart. She would break through his barriers to soothe the loneliness and the scars.

Tears threatened to snap Spock's thin strand of control. He should never have permitted himself to have feelings for her. Perhaps at one time a relationship was possible, but fal-tor-pan had changed him. The savage beatings and humiliation at the hands of Torlath had also left their ugly marks. _Psychological cripple…freak of nature._ What woman—Vulcan or human—would return his attention now?

Anger welled up like a surge of bitter acid. Spock drew back his arm and hurled the chess piece. The rook struck the wall hard, then ricocheted onto the carpet. Anyone in the adjoining apartment would easily have heard. And would wonder.

Fool!

Spock did what he could to compose himself before a wary neighbor found the door seal broken and called security. But no one came. His tantrum had gone unnoticed, after all. If he left quickly no one would know he had ever been here. No one, that is, but himself—and the ghost in a Starfleet uniform.

No. Not yet. Not before bringing that specter fully into the light.

Spock closed his eyes and reached deeply into himself. Tangled images swam through his mind—sleek whales in motions, sunlight glinting off restless water, stars beckoning through a stone-cut window. _Stone, rough-hewn, cold to the touch. Stone cold as torture, as hard and evil as a Klingon's eyes. Klingon bastard—filthy lying beast!_

Gritting his teeth, Spock resisted the icy current of loathing. He tried to call up the Vulcan mind rules. _So damn difficult to relearn them. Impatient with the masters, with himself. Ignorant. Backward. Not like_ _him_ _—not like his old self. Captain Spock would not indulge in negative emotions. He would know the correct procedures, he would say the right thing. He would always know exactly what to do. Wouldn't he?_

Perhaps that was the hardest part, Spock realized. The uncertainty. Not quite knowing whom he had once been, not knowing how to satisfy his family and his friends. Living under watchful, expectant eyes. Enduring their disappointment, their uneasy glances, their baffling anger. And worst of all, not knowing what to expect from himself. Well, he had had his fill of uncertainty.

In the lonely silence of the night, Spock stripped off his weather-dampened cloak. The chill of the room cut through his robe. Ignoring the discomfort, he went into the bedroom and raised the lights. For once he knew exactly where he was going and what he was going to do. But reaching the captain's closet, he hesitated. It took a full minute to convince himself of his reasoning, another to unfasten the clasps of his Vulcan robe. Then drawing a deep breath, he opened the closet door and took hold of a uniform. The feeling was not unlike that of diving into a tank full of whales.


	2. Chapter 2

By morning, the city was deeply shrouded in fog. Lauren arrived ten minutes late at the Medical Center, in a less than pleasant mood. As she entered the research lab her young assistants fell silent, but not before she had overheard Kirk's name. _Gossiping. And why shouldn't they?_ It was all over the morning news. The court martial of Starfleet hero Admiral Kirk had reached a standstill as the military tribunal deliberated behind closed doors. A verdict was expected by evening—a verdict of guilty in accord with Kirk's own plea and those of his fellow conspirators.

Lauren set her mind on her work, but the Friday dragged maddeningly. By afternoon, the fog lifted. Sunshine streamed through the laboratory windows, drawing her thoughts further and further away. It had not been her privilege to serve very long aboard the Enterprise, but the intensity of her experience had left her feeling close to the crew. Often during these past weeks she had wanted to go to Kirk, to the others, and let them know of her continued support, but fear of encountering Spock always stopped her. Today, more than ever, they needed people on their side. Suddenly it seemed selfish to let her personal problems stand in the way of friendship.

Lauren called her assistants together and left them in charge of the afternoon's work. Now that her mind was made up, she was anxious to get going. She arrived at the Federation Council chamber just as the tribunal announced its intention to deliver a verdict. Spectators jammed the observation seats lining the great hall. She squeezed in among the other latecomers standing near the entrance. There was no chance of speaking to her shipmates now. All she could do was watch…and pray.

At the front of the hall, a door opened. The audience murmured as Admiral Kirk strode to the center of the chamber, his officers in a line behind him. They came to attention before the wide council bench. Lauren waited.

There was a communal stir of excitement, the sound of measured bootsteps crossing the hall. Lauren stood on tiptoe and craned her neck for a better view. She glimpsed a uniform and shoved her way forward. Grudgingly the other spectators let her through, and now she saw clearly.

 _My God, it was him! Spock!_

There he stood in the flesh, so outwardly unchanged—yet there _were_ differences she could sense, though she could not have named them.

Spock took his place at Kirk's side, and the audience fell silent. Lauren listened, breathless, as Spock voiced his intention to stand by his shipmates. Elation swept through her in dizzying waves. She only half-heard the tribunal's verdict. Kirk was demoted—to captain—captain of a starship? All other charges were dropped? In the confusion of cheering that followed, she lost sight of Spock. The press of the jubilant throng carried her outside, where she escaped into the broad parkway in front of the building. _Had it really happened? Was Spock really there?_ She could not help but linger among the pines, an ambivalent spy, watching and waiting for him to exit the council chamber.

oooo

Spock broke with his shipmates as the audience erupted into cheers. Stunned by the ruling, he gravitated away from the noisy crowd converging on the floor. A few acquaintances sought him out, shook his hand. He responded politely. In the center of the chamber, well-wishers besieged Kirk for several minutes. Spock watched him catch McCoy in a hug. As the crowd thinned, Gillian Taylor approached Kirk and kissed him. Feeling uncomfortable, Spock moved farther into a secluded corner and waited for the last of the spectators to disperse. To his dismay, Sarek turned and came his way.

"Father," Spock said.

For the first time since Spock's return to Earth, Sarek looked him in the eye. "I will take passage to Vulcan within the hour. I wanted to take my leave of you."

Spock regarded his father warily. "It is kind of you to make this effort."

"It is not an effort," Sarek said. "You are my son. Besides, I wished to tell you that I am most impressed with your performance in this crisis."

Spock could not remember the last time Sarek had complimented him, or if he ever had. "Most kind, Father," he managed to say.

"I opposed your enlistment in Starfleet," Sarek said. "It is possible that my judgment was incorrect."

Spock raised an eyebrow in astonishment. He dared not speak for fear that some hint of emotion would find its way into his voice.

Sarek added, "Your associates are people of good character."

"They are my _friends_ ," Spock declared.

"Yes." Sarek nodded. "Yes, of course." If he noticed his son's discomposure, he gave no sign of it. "Spock, do you have any message for your mother?"

Spock considered. A dozen possibilities flashed through his mind, none of which he could relay through his father. Then he remembered a conversation with his mother on Vulcan. "Yes," he said. "Please tell her…I feel fine."

The remark silenced Sarek. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock saw Kirk looking at him. It was time to go. Collecting himself, he took leave of his father and crossed the council chamber to join his captain and shipmates.

Kirk asked, "Are you coming with us, Mister Spock?"

"Of course, Captain," Spock replied, smoothing the front of his uniform. "Did you believe otherwise?"

"I haven't been quite sure what to think, lately."

 _Nor I,_ Spock might have said in answer to the mild reproach. But the night had changed him. The long lonely hours facing up to the specter, measuring himself again a dead hero of Starfleet. With the dawn he had at last seen the uselessness of measuring himself against anyone. He had already wasted too much time gazing into the past. His energy should be focused on the future. And he knew that even as T'Beth's future would be on Earth, his own future beckoned to him from Space.

They moved into the foyer together. A mob of reporters pressed in, shouting out questions, their newscorders thrust forward.

"They're giving Kirk a starship," Spock heard. "How do you feel about that?"

"Weren't _you_ captain of the Enterprise?"

"You gave your life for the ship. What are they giving _you?"_

" _What did it feel like to be dead?"_

Remaining silent, Spock glanced at Kirk. The captain was responding to his own share of intrusive queries…and he was actually smiling. Without a word, Spock pushed his way past the disappointed newsmen and emerged into the pale afternoon sunshine. Before he could take a breath, Gillian Taylor rushed up and touched his arm.

"Mister Spock!" she beamed. "Incredible, isn't it?"

Spock sighed. "Indeed."

oooo

From a distance, Lauren watched Gillian Taylor lean close to Spock, lay her fingers on his arm, and speak with animation. _Go ahead,_ she seethed, _touch him, share his company, his thoughts._

Bitterly she reminded herself that she had no claim on _this_ Spock. This man in the captain's uniform was not the one she remembered. She could not expect him to acknowledge her. She could not hold him to the old, unspoken promises. It mattered not what clever golem the Vulcans had created with their fal-tor-pan. _Her_ Spock, the Spock of yesterday, was gone.

Fighting back tears, Lauren turned and disappeared into the park.

oooo

Gillian Taylor drew away from Spock and still looking at him, started down the steps. Excitedly she said, "I couldn't leave without saying goodbye—and thanks. Gotta run! On my way to Mer!" At that, she bounded away.

He watched her go. He had personally arranged her passage to Mer aboard a Starfleet science vessel. No doubt she would find divers there willing to help in her work with the humpback whales. She was a most energetic, persuasive woman.

Spock turned and gazed out over the parkway, at the lush growth of grass and majestic conifers. The air smelled of damp vegetation and sea salt. Out on the bay, a ship's horn sounded. Its mournful cry seemed to penetrate to the very core of his being. Withdrawing further into himself, he headed across the lawn.

 _What was wrong with him?_ The trial had ended more positively than anyone had anticipated. Sarek had broken his silence to compliment him on his performance, to grudgingly approve his choice of career in Starfleet, and his choice of friends. He should be pleased—and in fact, he was. Then why this restlessness, why this gnawing sense of dissatisfaction? Its roots went far deeper than any reporter's foolish questions.

Walking did little to improve Spock's frame of mind, but at least he was alone. Once in the trees his pace slowed. A subtle breeze stirred the branches above his head. Lively birds fluttered within reach, chirping, cocking their bright heads at him. When he stretched out his hand, they exploded into flight. The park grew silent.

A turn in the trail opened onto a small clearing. In the dappled sunlight a uniformed woman sat on a bench, head in hands. Spock froze. He had clumsily intruded on another's solitude. Hoping to escape notice, he stepped back. His boot snapped a twig hidden amid the carpet of pine needles. The woman raised her head—startled blue eyes, soft golden hair arranged in a single thick braid.

Shocked, he stared at the woman. Even as his body reacted, his mind worked to deny the traitorous thrill of recognition. _A cruel trick of an uncertain memory, nothing more. I see Lauren in any woman who resembles her. Take control of yourself._

Then the woman stood. The play of light on her delicate features left no further doubt as to her identity. Drawing back her shoulders, she said, "Captain."

Spock opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. In the past year there had been dreams like this—sudden awakenings in the night, his body feverish, his mind blindly reaching out. Now, in the midst of these cool woodland shadows, he realized what he had been aching for.

"Lieutenant Fielding," he said in as detached a manner as possible.

"It's…lieutenant commander now," she said, then added, "sir."

Belatedly Spock took in the emblems of her new rank. It embarrassed him that he had not noticed. "Of course," he said stiffly. "No doubt well deserved."

An awkward silence descended like a curtain between them. Lauren dropped her gaze to the ground. It seemed to signal an end to the encounter. Spock hesitated and then turned to leave.

"Captain— "Lauren's voice stopped him. "Captain, it's a fine thing you did."

Spock looked back at her, perplexed.

"Standing with the others."

"I could do no less," Spock said.

"I know." A trace of a tear glistened on her cheek. Step by slow step she came toward him, her questioning eyes large with hope, bright with fear. "That's one of the things I always…admired about you." And she whispered, quite near. "Do you remember?"

 _Did he remember?_ "Yes." The word caught in Spock's throat. "I remember."

Lauren's mouth trembled. Tears spilled from the blue pools of her eyes, spotting her uniform. "Spock," she said, reaching out to him.

Spock drew back. He could not help it. As much as he longed for Lauren's companionship, another part of him resisted. To join with her would mean opening himself. To join with her would mean sharing the bitter fruits of his ordeal among the Klingons—all his scars, all his shame, all his unresolved anger.

Stricken, Lauren looked at him, her hand still hanging.

"Please," Spock said, "do not be offended. It is only that—" He broke off, unsure of how to continue at this point, or even if he should.

Lauren let her arm drop and made a visible effort to compose herself. "No need to apologize," she said, swallowing hard. "It's been a long time. A lot has happened."

Spock nodded in silence. It might be that Lauren also had secrets hidden. Changes in attitude. New interests. New friends.

She gazed at him steadily. "You look well."

"I am," Spock said.

"Are you going to ship out with Kirk?"

"That is my intention." He hesitated, wondering if she also would apply for duty aboard Kirk's new command. But he could not bring himself to say it. Instead he asked, "Are you still conducting research on Vulcan plakir-fee?"

Lauren seemed to blush. She averted her eyes and said nothing for a moment. Then, "No. That's over."

"Oh?" Spock was surprised. She had been so dedicated to the work. "Did you…encounter an insurmountable difficulty?"

Blushing harder, she turned aside. "I can't talk about it. I'm sorry, Captain, I have to leave."

"Of course," he said. "I did not mean to detain you—"

But she was already gone.

Spock drew a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Lauren's abrupt departure held all the sting of a rejection. Yet only moments earlier she had spoken his name tenderly, she had reached out to him. Churning with emotion, he stared at the empty park bench. If only he had not pulled away from her touch. If only he had not been so concerned with preserving his own dignity.

A scuffle of footsteps broke into Spock's awareness. Ordering his features, he turned. McCoy's voice carried through the trees, followed by Jim's staccato bursts of laughter. Arm in arm, drunk with victory, the two humans barged into the clearing. At the sight of Spock they stopped and sobered a little.

"There you are!" Kirk scolded. "What's the big idea leaving me to handle that flock of reporters all by myself?"

Spock's anger flared. "I was not the hell aware that you needed my assistance. It seemed as if you were enjoying the attention."

"Testy, testy," McCoy said under his breath.

Jim looked hurt. "Well, Spock, we vain devious humans are going to do some celebrating. Are you coming?"

Spock did not want to be around anyone in his present state. He needed solitude, a chance to collect himself through meditation. "I must decline," he said without explanation.

McCoy gave him a sharp, all-too-knowing look.

"Spock…" Kirk began. His voice trailed away in frustration.

McCoy spoke up. "Jim, don't push it. He's probably tired."

Spock did not correct the doctor. After all, it was sufficiently true. Excusing himself, he made his way out of the park alone.

oooo

At the door to his faculty quarters, Spock tore off the last of the security tape and disposed of it. Inside the apartment, he raised the heat and hesitated, looking at the phone-linked computer on his desk. _Was she back at work now? In her base quarters? Or on her way to the beach house, speeding along in a skimmer, her mind occupied with thoughts and emotions he could not share_? He could reach her anywhere. Unless she had changed her number, he knew it. But what could he possibly say to her? He was not skilled in matters of the heart.

Spock went into his bedroom, to the corner reserved for meditation. Closing the blinds, he lit the attunement flame. By its red glow he changed from his uniform into the wide-sleeved robe of a Seleya initiate. There was some comfort in the familiarity of the ritual.

Arranging his robe around him, he settled onto his meditation stool. His eyes focused on the flame. His mind turned inward. One by one he isolated the surging emotions, consciously applying the elementary Vulcan mind rules. A child's exercise. _Acknowledge the feeling. Observe it with detachment. Gently let it go._

Simple—yes. Only the feelings inside him did not want to let go. Like the writhing of the flame, they leapt and danced, mocking his puny efforts to control them. _Any child can do it. Have you not the strength of a child?_

Closing his eyes, Spock concentrated harder.

oooo

At the beach house, Lauren sat staring at a blank screen, heart pounding like a mixed-up adolescent. _Go ahead, call him. Tell him the truth._ Balling her fists, she imagined what she might say. _Uh…Captain, about my plakir-fee research. Well, after you died…and the Vulcans brought you back…there were terrible rumors. I was so full of grief, of anger…I wanted to punish the whole Vulcan race. So I'm afraid I…I went a little crazy. I trashed the whole project. Everything._

The truth would shock him. But he _might_ make allowances for her human frailty. Lingering mood swings were symptomatic of the concussion she had suffered aboard the Enterprise. And clearly Spock still had strong feelings of his own. It was much, much too late for him to deny that. She had seen the look in his eyes when he first saw her.

He _did_ remember their relationship! He _did!_

Then why had he pulled away from her? Not because of Gillian Taylor. Lauren knew that now. Even now, like a painful echo of her own loneliness, she sensed something of Spock's need for her—though she did not understand how, or why, she should have to endure it. Hadn't he hurt her enough already?

"Leave me alone," she said out loud. "Keep your emotions to yourself if you won't do anything about them." But quickly she thought, _No, I don't mean it. It's only that I—oh God, I don't want to end up like Chris Chapel. Desperate for a love you can never fully return. Living on bitter dreams._

Sighing, Lauren went to a newly replaced window and watched sea birds dart up and down the beach, poking their beaks into the wet, glistening sand. Breakers churned as the crimson sun lowered in the sky. _Fal-tor-pan could only do so much. He's changed, Laurie. Accept it._

 _But everyone changes. Haven't I changed, too? That's no reason to give him up._

She had to calm down. She had to be patient. Like the rhythm of the surf, like the turning of the day. It wasn't going to happen all at once. Time had thrown up too many barriers. For now it would have to be enough just knowing that he still wanted her—but that didn't mean she should sit idly by, waiting for a breakthrough that might never come. If Spock went into Space, she might not see him again for years.

Lauren made herself sit before the phone screen and organize her thoughts on paper. That done, she ordered Spock's Academy number. For several excruciating seconds there was no response. She had almost decided to abort the call when the screen flickered and Spock appeared in Vulcan garb. Though his face was carefully ordered, she knew he was uneasy.

"Doctor," he said in a neutral tone.

"Captain." She cleared her throat but her voice remained unsteady. "Captain, in the park I…I didn't mean to be rude. It's only that your question about the research…caught me off guard."

Spock gazed at her without comment.

"I want to explain," she continued. It was becoming harder to breathe. Somehow she gathered her courage and glancing down at her notes, voiced her carefully prepared confession. When it was over she sat back, drained, unable to meet the captain's eyes.

"Most unfortunate," he said at last.

Thoroughly ashamed, she looked up. Spock's pained expression held no sign of condemnation. In a gentle, hesitant voice he said, "My terminal here…still contains portions of the project. Together…we might reconstruct other parts of your research from memory. If you so wish…"

 _If I so wish!_ Until this moment Lauren had given little thought to resurrecting the project. It had seemed impossible. But now, if Spock thought his memory sure enough, anything seemed possible. A great weight lifted from her heart and she smiled at him. "How kind of you to offer. I really would appreciate your help."

His eyes warmed. And she thought, _now_ _. Now, Spock. Open to me…_

But the moment passed and the call came to an end and once more she was left lonely and dissatisfied. The barriers were so steep, the nights so long. But sitting quietly she closed her eyes and somehow knew he was thinking about her. In her mind she spoke, _Keep on thinking. Think of me all the way into tomorrow…and when you get tired of just thinking, remember that I'm here. I am still waiting._


End file.
